The Silent Clock.
Its sounds were hushed by weeping love,
A sad heart bade it cease to move,
And one long hour of sorrow prove.
A heart and it did beat their last,
A trembling hand before it passed,
And endless silence on it cast.
A spectre from the silent lands,
A shadow of life's grief it stands,
Still pleading with uplifted hands,
Whose awful stillness seems to say;
Here was the closing of his day—
Here was the loosing of the clay.
Forget not one, of old so dear,
Lift up your hearts for him in prayer
As we are ever lifted here.
It shames the soul—that silent clock,
Its mournful muteness seems to mock
The love we thought no years could shock.
Our sighs and tears of fond distress
Have changed to smiles of happiness
It stands unchanged, dumb, motionless!
Geraldine.